


to be alone (with you)

by onewriterinamillion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, my draco deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewriterinamillion/pseuds/onewriterinamillion
Summary: “What do you want?” he demanded. Potter looked down, his face tinged slightly pink.“I guess,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and suddenly looking very tired, “all these years, I’ve been alone. I had Ron and Hermionie, I know that, but I was really always carrying a burden that no one else could fully understand. I think you’re the same.”Draco stared. When he said nothing, Potter lifted his eyes back to Draco and held his gaze.“I know you feel like you’re on your own. But, you’re not, and if you want me, I’ll be here.” With this, Potter smiled softly, rose from the steps, and returned inside.If you want me. Draco shivered slightly, against the cold or else those words that had traveled into his body and settled, heavy, in his chest. Closing his eyes, he pictured Potter’s rumpled hair, his loose Gryffindor tie, those piercing green eyes, his soft smile.If you want me.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 134





	to be alone (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for some violence, ptsd, and mentions of eating disorders. tread carefully my loves.

_ I had hoped for better from you, Draco.  _

_ Like your father, you are weak. A disappointment. _

_ You failed me, and failure cannot go unpunished. _

_ Crucio. _

\--

“You had better watch your back, Malfoy. Someday, your luck’s gonna run out.”

Draco stiffened at the words thrown at his back. Ugly, malicious laughter filled his ears as a gaggle of fifth year Ravenclaws moved to pass him, jostling him with their shoulders when he got too close. Taking a deep breath, Draco made it to the Great Hall otherwise unscathed, sliding into a seat next to Blaise. He didn’t dare look up from the table, knowing full well he would be met with accusatory stares and sneers from the other houses. Best to eat quickly and retreat to his room to study. With a sigh (he sighed quite a lot these days), Draco picked at some roasted potatoes in an attempt to eat something.

It had been like this from the first day back. Part of his Ministry deal was that he return to Hogwarts to make up for the year he missed doing all of those dark things. In a way, Draco felt that this was a worse punishment than a year in Azkaban. There, at least he would be in the company of fellow criminals. Here, he was almost universally hated. The older students, especially the other eighth years, left him alone; it was the young ones, who had suffered the most at the hands of the Carrows, who tormented him. They needed someone alive to blame for their pain, and Draco was right there, fresh off a Ministry trial and public humiliation.

Beside him, he heard a small intake of breath from Blaise, who knew a little of what Draco had faced that day and every other since the beginning of their eighth year. Draco shook his head, and whatever Blaise was going to say died on his lips. He knew it was unfair, but Draco couldn’t speak, or complain, about his torment, especially when he deserved it. Blaise and the others got some of it too, but not to the same extent. They could still look at other students without being ridiculed; they could study in the library without getting their homework torn to shreds.

“Oh, just piss  _ off _ already.”

A voice carried above the din of the Great Hall, and Draco chanced a glance at his surroundings to find Harry Potter in a stand-off with a Ravenclaw boy, the one who had threatened Draco earlier. Potter’s arms were crossed menacingly and his green eyes were ablaze with anger. 

“So you’re happy to be sharing the school with a Death Eater?” the Ravenclaw boy implored incredulously, his voice clear and loud so as to draw more attention. Draco’s blood ran cold. Potter’s eyes darted towards the Slytherin table, and Draco looked quickly back at his food, hoping not to be dragged into it.

By now, the Hall had grown quiet, everyone’s eyes on either Potter, the Ravenclaw, or Draco. Even the professors sat in silence, watching the exchange unfold. “You don’t know half of what happened during the war.” Potter's voice was calm, though his eyes told a different story. “Now, if you’re done enlisting people into your little bullying club, I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of what you don’t understand.”

Though still calm, his words had a sharp edge, and the Ravenclaw boy stepped back in shock, then hurried across the Great Hall, his group of cronies trailing behind him. With great relief Draco stabbed a potato with his fork, when a cold voice behind him announced, “You’ll be seeing us around, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco whipped around to meet the eyes of one of the Ravenclaws, who smiled savagely and stalked away to join her fellow fifth years. Now all eyes were on Draco as he stood up, panicked, and moved from the Hall. Blaise and Nott stood as well, worry in their eyes, but Draco kept walking, away from all the stares. He had to get away from these people, he had to be alone. Tears welled up in his eyes as pushed open a set of doors leading outside, startling some first years on their way in. Finding he could walk no further, Draco slumped onto a step, his head falling into his hands. A dull roar was beginning to build in his ears, and the cold fall air seemed to seep into his bones. 

For a few long moments Draco sat and tried to block all thought from his mind. It was becoming too much. He couldn’t even leave the common room without being tormented, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“They won’t actually do anything,” a familiar voice spoke startlingly close to him.

Potter had sat down next to Draco on the steps without him even noticing, and he was now looking at Draco without fire in his eyes, only something that looked like pity. Draco felt the panic rise again at the close proximity of him and Potter, who smelled like pumpkins and sandalwood and who could probably see the single tear that had slid down his face.

“What?” he asked, his guard up immediately. He and Potter hadn’t spoken yet this year, and Draco had neither the patience nor the mental fortitude to start up a conversation with his once mortal enemy now.

His feelings for Harry Potter were complicated at best, though Draco had tried hard to ignore them. He harbored no hatred towards the Boy-Who-Lived; he never really had. Draco had spent so much of his childhood blindly channeling the feelings of his parents and their ilk that he had only started to realize that what he really felt for Potter was not loathing at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Sometimes in class Draco caught himself lost in Potter’s green eyes or his careless smiles.

(Draco secretly admired Potter for this latter attribute. He wished his happiness could be shared so carelessly.)

“I don’t think they’ll actually do anything. They’re just angry, they’re not old enough to be violent,” Potter said, his voice oozing warmth and sincerity. Usually, Draco would feel angry at being spoken to this way, especially by Potter, but now he felt nothing but a sharp twinge of remorse.

“I was violent at their age.”

Potter sighed, echoing Draco’s own exhalation from earlier. He sounded frustrated and sad and everything else Draco felt every moment of every day. “It was different for us,” Potter said quietly. It sounded like forgiveness.

Draco was silent for a moment, trying to gather his emotions and hide them away so Potter wouldn’t know how much he wanted that forgiveness. “Violent or not, they’re justified in their anger,” Draco replied bitterly. “I deserve all of it.”

“No one deserves to live in fear.” Draco felt his heart stutter.

“What do you want?” he demanded. Potter looked down, his face tinged slightly pink.

“I guess,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and suddenly looking very tired, “all these years, I’ve been alone. I had Ron and Hermionie, I know that, but I was really always carrying a burden that no one else could fully understand. I think you’re the same.”

Draco stared. When he said nothing, Potter lifted his eyes back to Draco and held his gaze. 

“I know you feel like you’re on your own. But, you’re not, and if you want me, I’ll be here.” With this, Potter smiled softly, rose from the steps, and returned inside.

_ If you want me. _ Draco shivered slightly, against the cold or else those words that had traveled into his body and settled, heavy, in his chest. Closing his eyes, he pictured Potter’s rumpled hair, his loose Gryffindor tie, those piercing green eyes, his soft smile.

_ If you want me. _

\--

_ Don’t hesitate, Draco. What would he say if you failed again? _

_ Come now, Draco. They’re only Muggles. _

_ Kill them. _

_ Kill them, or he’ll kill you. _

\--

The next morning the Slytherin common room was abuzz with Potter’s heroic defense. Feinting hunger, Draco attempted to sneak quietly past the whispers and stares of his housemates, but he didn’t miss Blaise’s pointedly knowing look. Nothing got past Blaise Zabini, no matter how hard Draco tried to fool him. No doubt he knew more of Draco’s secrets than Draco knew himself.

If the Slytherin gossip was kept to a polite whisper, the same courtesy hadn’t been passed to the rest of the houses. As Draco made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast (probably just a coffee, actually), students blatantly discussed the previous evening's proceedings. 

“How pathetic, he can’t even stand up for himself.”

“A right foul git, that one, hope he gets what’s coming to him.”

“Did you see Malfoy’s face? Bet he’s not even grateful that Harry saved his arse.”

It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Just as the war ended and he started facing backlash, jabs like those were each painful stabs of guilt. Now they faded into a dull ache that Draco carried with him at every moment.

“Guess Potter needs someone else to save, now that he’s already saved half the bloody world. Talk about arrogance.”

“You would think he would loathe the Death Eater. It’s like he’s forgotten what side he fought for.”

That was new. Reverence and pride were usually the emotions reserved for Potter. Disappointment swirled in Draco’s chest. These people would even bad-mouth the man who had saved the whole world not even one year ago, as if heroism was a character defect. Draco knew what real defects were; he had many.

Apparently, these resentments had reached Potter’s ears, for he all but ran straight into Draco on the way out of the Great Hall with only a few pieces of toast and a stormy expression. On colliding with Draco, however, the tempest subsided. Potter gave him a weary smile. “Guess we won’t be hearing the end of this one for a while.”

Carefully, Draco smiled back. It felt foreign on his face, and Potter’s eyes widened in surprise. Draco’s heart sank just a bit. He had lived a sad existence if a sincere smile was something to be surprised about.

“Stay here,” he said with some determination and raced into the Great Hall for his coffee, ignoring the ever-present stares. He returned to Potter’s side in record time and gestured for him to follow. They traveled to the seventh floor in silence, Potter trailing slightly behind, his face still a picture of shock. When they reached Barnabas the Barmy, Potter smiled and watched Draco pace back and forth until a door appeared. They were greeted by a familiar sight, at least for Draco. A small table strewn with books and notes sat at the center of the room, which was cozy and warm thanks to the rich red walls and the little fire burning happily at the far wall. Usually the table sported one chair, but the Room of Requirement never disappointed, and a second chair faced Draco’s. Potter looked even more pleased as the door closed behind them and they were enveloped in silence and warmth.

“At the beginning of term, I needed a place to escape to, away from everyone,” Draco admitted sheepishly as he set his coffee on the table. “I know we don’t exactly have fond memories of this place, but I thought you might need the escape.”

Potter, who looked at Draco like he had sprouted at second head, but also like he had just offered him a new Firebolt, muttered a soft ‘thanks’ and cleared a spot for his toast on the table. Pumpkin juice suddenly appeared in front of him, and he smiled that soft smile again, the one that twisted Draco’s stomach into knots.

They sat in a comfortable silence until Potter tried to offer Draco a slice of toast. He declined as politely as he could, trying to hide his disgust. Draco’s relationship with food was as complicated as his new tentative… something… with Harry Potter. Potter seemed disheartened at his decline, so Draco screwed up some Gryffindor courage in an effort to remedy the situation. (Why was he so panicked to fix Potter’s unhappiness?)

“I’m sorry you got any trouble because of me,” he said, a little guiltily.

“Not your fault,” Potter shook his head, swallowing a bite of toast. “I can’t stand bullies. They make me… lose control.”

“I was a bully.”

Potter smiled grimly. “Yeah, you were pretty insufferable. It’s the past, though. You’ve endured enough of your own pain.”

Draco felt a warm glow beginning in his chest. He swallowed thickly, hoping his eyes conveyed the gratitude his voice couldn’t. Potter seemed to understand, and went back to merrily wolfing down his food. For the second time that day, Draco smiled, and it was real.

\--

_ Will you join us? _

_ Will you do your duty? _

_ It’s your destiny. _

_ If you don’t, he’ll kill you. _

\--

After that, they slowly fell into a friendship. Potter joined Draco in their escape room, as they dubbed it, once a week, then twice, then every day they could be found eating breakfast together or studying or just hiding from the stares and whispers.

For years, Draco had built up the idea of Harry Potter. Not the one his parents had dumped on him. This was a private fantasy of a hero who was golden, shining, and perfect. In reality, Harry Potter was not golden, shining, or perfect. He ate every meal hurried and messy, like it was his last. He was absolute rubbish at Potions and History of Magic. He had a quick temper, not easily controlled. He was stubborn to the point of delusion. 

He also was loyal to the point of obsession. He was just as quick to smile as he was to snarl. He was absolutely brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. He was perceptive, too, and tried to trick Draco into eating every once in a while. Draco knew this, but because his heart soared every time Potter offered him some of his meal, he let him. In a way, the real Harry Potter was much better than the one he had created in his head.

Draco didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly Potter was Harry and they walked together in the halls to class. The looks he got now were ones of jealousy and confusion, and the whispers containing his name were quickly followed by ‘Harry Potter.’ He became friendly with Weasley and Granger, for Harry’s sake, and because Harry and Blaise got along so nicely. (Blaise shot him that knowing smirk the first time Draco brought Harry to the Slytherin common room.) He still loathed Weasley, the imbecile, but he admired Granger’s intelligence and quick jabs. They were off snogging whenever they weren’t in class, and sometimes in class, too, so Harry stuck close to Draco’s side. They played Quidditch on nights the pitch was empty, since neither of them were on their house teams anymore. It felt wonderful to fly together as allies instead of enemies.

He found himself telling Harry about his life, most if it anyways, and what had happened during Voldemort’s reign. Harry told him stories in return of the Order and Sirius’s death and 12 Grimmauld Place, which Draco was to visit over summer. They shared a small grief over Tonks, who Draco had only met briefly as a child but recognized as family nonetheless. It was wonderful to have something in common with Harry besides loneliness.

At the end of term they went to Hogsmeade together and stuffed their faces with treacle tart and butterbeer. Harry showed Draco his favorite items from Zonko’s, and Draco laughed breathlessly when they found the spot he had been snowballed by an invisible hand. Draco hadn’t been that happy in a very, very long time.

One night they argued viciously, and the  _ Sectumsempra _ incident was rehashed in great detail. Once it was over, though, Harry hugged Draco with tears in his eyes and whispered apologies. Draco hugged him back, his anger replaced with that golden glow and a feeling of  _ just right _ with Harry’s arms wrapped around him. He kept that to himself. Ginny Weasley was a fresh wound, and he wasn’t even sure if Harry liked boys like that. He let him himself be happy with what he had. It was more than he had ever had in his life.

That didn’t stop him from dreaming of Harry’s eyes or the feel of their lips pressed together or what he would look like against Draco’s green sheets.

There was, though, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he couldn’t shake. Maybe it was the years of constant reassurance that he wasn’t good enough, but at his most content Draco heard a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Lucius Malfoy telling him it wouldn’t last. He was broken, a criminal, a Death Eater. What right did he have to be in the company of the Wizarding World’s hero? 

\--

_ You’ve betrayed your family. _

_ You will never live up to our expectations. _

_ You’re a disgrace. _

_ I wish you were never born. _

\--

One winter night, just after Christmas and a visit to the Manor, the voice finally won.

“I’ve killed people. Muggles.”

Harry looked up from his Charms essay, his eyes wide. Draco let out a shaky breath at this confession, hoping he hadn’t just ruined whatever this had become.

“I’ve killed people, too. We all have, Draco.”

“I’ve tortured people.”

“So have I. I tortured you, Draco. Remember?”

“I’ve stolen, and cheated, and lied, over and over again.”

“Yes, I have, too. What’s your point, Draco?”

“It’s just,” Draco exhaled again, trying to ignore the building pressure behind his eyes, “you’re so good, and I’ve done so much bad, and I don’t think I deserve you, Harry.”

In his haste to stand, Harry’s chair toppled to the carpeted floor, and he rounded the table to Draco with lightning speed. Draco felt ragged and bare, but also relieved, his biggest worry finally out in the open, to be rejected or accepted by this boy he was starting to love.

He felt warm hands on his shoulders, and Draco met Harry’s green eyes as he knelt beside him. “You deserve me. Draco.” He shook Draco back into focus. “The war is over. You  _ are _ good. I promise.” He swiped a thumb across Draco’s cheek, wiping away tears. Draco’s eyes closed at the sensation, relishing in the moment of finding home.

Warm lips brushed his forehead, feather light, and they were gone just quickly as Harry pulled Draco into his arms. For once, Draco let himself cry, sobs racking his body as he clutched to Harry’s soft jumper. He let all of his worry and relief and frustration and anger and guilt spill out of him, leaving only Harry and his strong arms and his skin that smelled like pumpkin and sandalwood. When he was quiet again, he found that the nagging voice in his head had subsided, too. All he heard was soft breaths and a warm, crackling fire.

\--

_ You said it wasn’t him. _

_ You lied to me, Draco. _

_ You will pay for that. _

_ Crucio. _

\--

Harry was wrong. They weren’t too young to be violent. 

The Ravenclaw boy and two others had met Draco as he left the Room of Requirement, alone for the first time in weeks. Harry had gone to spend some time with Weasley and Granger, something he didn’t do much of anymore. Feeling happy and warm, Draco hadn’t thought to be on his guard as he stepped out of his only safe space.

“Told you we’d come, Malfoy,” was the only warning he received before he felt the pain.

_ Crucio _ .

No matter how many times he suffered the curse, the pain was never something he could get used to. Draco felt himself drop to the ground, but all other sensation was muted in comparison to the blinding, consuming pain of the Cruciatus Curse. He writhed on the floor, sensing his attackers surrounding him, laughing. As the curse faded, Draco remembered something Harry had confessed his aunt Bellatrix had told him at the Ministry.

To produce an effective Cruciatus, you have to really mean it. You have to  _ hate _ .

The boys jeered as his main attacker cast another curse and Draco was engulfed in waves of pain. Over and over again, for what felt like ages, he suffered at the hands of these boys who  _ hated _ him. As the corners of his vision turned black, his mind drifted to green eyes and messy black hair. Suddenly, the pain faded and he heard yells and thuds as the Ravenclaws were flung to the ground. Limply, Draco was lifted into the air by a beautiful boy with green eyes ablaze with fire and messy black hair. 

“Draco, Draco, we’re going to Madam Pomfrey now. Draco, please stay with me. Please.” Harry’s voice was thick with panic and anger. The last thing he felt before drifting away was warmth, security, and belonging in the arms of that beautiful boy.

\--

_ You’re not a bad person. _

_ You’ve made mistakes, but so have I. _

_ You didn’t deserve the life you were given. _

_ I love you. _

\--

When Draco woke, he was greeted by Minerva McGonagall’s thin, worried face. He tried to sit up, but found his head ached too greatly and gave up. Then, it came rushing back to him, the Ravenclaw boy and the pain and Harry lifting him in his arms. He also recalled a whisper, a voice in the dark telling him everything he wanted to hear.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked groggily before he could collect his thoughts. McGonagall’s lips pursed, as if she was trying to hide a smile.

“I expect he’ll be along soon, as it’s quite early in the morning still.” The Headmistress moved to sit in the empty chair beside his bed. “You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent, waiting for McGonagall to continue with whatever it was she wanted to say. He felt tired beyond his years and wanted to sleep or to see Harry, not to talk to this amazing woman he was sure hated him.

“Those boys have been expelled. I wanted to tell you personally. What they did to you,” she paused, collecting herself. “It was horrific.”

“I deserved it, for everything I’ve done,” Draco said resignedly. Professor McGonagall’s eyes flashed with surprise and she grabbed Draco’s hand.

“No one deserves what they did to you. I want you to remember that, Draco. No one deserves that.”

Again, Draco was shocked at the compassion of these people who he had wrong so grievously. He found that he could not speak for the emotion welling up in him. McGonagall did not seem to mind, and they shared the silence, her hand still squeezing his. Loud footsteps pierced the air suddenly, and Harry came rushing into the infirmary with worry and relief mixed in his eyes. McGonagall released her grip and stood, nodding once to Draco and then to Harry as she made her exit. Harry took the now empty chair and brought it closer to Draco’s bed, smiling.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up. Hermionie made me take a break to sleep and eat. The minute I found out I came. How do you feel? Those bastards, I hope they rot for what they did to you, Draco-”

“I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s rambling stopped abruptly, and his eyes lit like glowing green embers. “What?”

“All these years, I’ve been alone. I was carrying a burden that no one else could fully understand. I thought it was better to carry it alone, but now I have you. I don’t feel alone anymore.” He thought he should feel afraid of his words, but Draco felt only belonging and security and warmth as he stared into those green eyes and took in that messy black hair. He felt certain Harry wouldn’t leave him alone.

And he was right. Harry, beaming like golden sunshine bent down to press his lips to Draco’s, finally, letting him know that his feelings were reciprocated completely. Harry’s lips were rough but he tasted like pumpkin juice and it was everything. He kissed softly, as if Draco were glass that might shatter with pressure, so he surged up to Harry, effectively earning a small gasp. They moved together for long, bright moments, savoring the taste of each other and the feeling of perfect happiness. When Madam Pomfrey interrupted them, saying they would scar the younger students in the infirmary, they just laughed. As Draco looked at Harry, smiling at him with those bright green eyes, he felt deserving. He felt whole.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from sufjan steven's 'to be alone with you'


End file.
